“Every step I have taken in the past week can be checked and verified,” Ollie replies, making Danny laugh again.
“Every step?”
“Every. Single. Step.”
“Even from your bed to the pisser?”
Ollie nods, looking out the corner of his eye at me. “The woman I’m seeing can vouch for every step taken in my apartment.”
I feel my heart tighten in my chest, and I have no idea why. The woman he’s seeing? His apartment. The apartment we shared together.
“She’s an attorney,” Ollie continues, as I drop my eyes to my purse and pointlessly rummage through it. Danny and James are both watching me. Looking for my reaction. I pray I’m not giving them one. I expect it’s no accident that Ollie’s dating a lawyer. An upstanding member of the community. Someone who would never dream of lying in a court of law.
Dating. She’s staying at our place. His place. “What did you want to meet me for?” I ask him, forcing myself to look at him. Forcing myself not to appear hurt. I’m deplorable. I don’t love Ollie anymore. Not like that. And yet . . . it still stings. Maybe it’s just because I’m feeling particularly tender today. Maybe it’s because James and I are more and more at odds these days. I don’t know. I want Ollie to be happy. Truly, I do. And now, as I look at him, I see the burning resentment that’s been in his gaze in recent times is gone. So maybe it stings because, right now, he seems happy, content, and I am not.
Ollie clears his throat. “I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else.”
I blink and lean back. “What?”
“About Jolene and me.”
“You wanted to see me to tell me you’re seeing someone?” I’ve spent all this time stressing out, thinking he had news on my father, and all the time he just wanted to tell me he’s moved on?
“Like I said, I thought it was better to come from me.”
“And the photo you sent me? Of James and his ex-fuck. If you’re so happy in your new relationship, why?”
“I still care about you, Beau.”
I cannot believe what I’m hearing. But . . . am I more disappointed that he’s seeing someone, or that he hasn’t got any information on my father? No more hate. This has to be a good thing. Ollie will back off, and James and Danny won’t kill him. Because despite everything, I still fucking care about him too. Pull it together, Beau. “I’m happy for you.” I force a smile and reach for his arm, giving it a brief, caring rub. “Truly. Take care, okay?”
“You too.” He looks at me, almost vacant. It’s weird. “Goodbye, Beau.”
“Goodbye,” I whisper.
Ollie gives James a look of pure hatred before he leaves, and I watch him go, my forehead heavy, something . . . off.
“Beau, we should go,” James says, surprisingly softly, pulling me back to the present.
Go. Yes. I pick up my feet and get precisely two paces before I’m intercepted by a short, round man with a moustache.
“Miss Hayley, I’m Walter Foster,” he says, looking quite stressed. “Your father’s attorney. I have been trying to reach you at . . .”—he frowns and looks down at a piece of paper—“. . . 4563 Hillcre—”
“I no longer live there. Haven’t for some time.”
“Ah, well, that would explain it.” He lifts a knee and rests his briefcase on it, opening it while hopping around a few times, trying to keep his balance. I look at James, my eyebrows high.
He moves in and holds the man’s arm. “Here, let me help you.”
“Oh, very kind.” He pulls out a card, puts it between his teeth, and closes his briefcase, returning to two feet.
“You know,” Danny says, motioning to the card as Mr. Foster removes it from his mouth, “there’s this great little device on the market that holds business cards in a handy pocket-sized contraption that you can actually keep in your pocket.” He plasters on an amazed expression. “Maybe put it on your Christmas list and if you’ve been a good boy, Santa Claus might leave one under the tree for you.”
James pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and I turn my back on Danny, in no mood for his threatening, backward jokes.
Neither is Mr. Foster, who semi scowls before getting back to business. “I was charged with your father’s financial affairs. He named me executor.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. As I understand it, your parents were divorced, and my client and yourself were estranged.”
“Depends when he wrote his will,” I mutter, looking up to the sky for strength.
“Can we make an appointment for the reading of the will? Perhaps you could let me know when you are available.” He passes me the business card.
“Now,” I say, leaving the card between his fingers. “I’m available now.”
“Oh, well.” He pulls the sleeve of his jacket up and peers at his watch. “I have a commitment in Little Havana shortly.”
“I don’t think you heard the lady, Mr. Foster.” Danny, hands in his pockets all casual, steps forward, and I look at him in disbelief.
“The lady can handle this,” I say through a tight jaw, making James give Danny a sorry look and Danny give me an indignant one. I return my attention to Mr. Foster. “I’m available now.” I reach for the card that’s in his now limp grip by his side and read the address.
“Very well.” He clears his throat. “After the wake?”
“I’m not attending the wake.” I walk away with James and Danny quickly on my heels, and I tell myself that the day couldn’t get any worse. Then I tell myself off for telling myself that, because . . . haven’t I learned? And then, like a fucking omen, something catches my eye on the other side of the parking lot, someone loitering, and I slow to a stop, trying to focus. “That’s Amber,” I say, not taking my eyes off her as she puts some sunglasses on and pulls a hood up over her head, slipping away, obviously because she’s been spotted.
“I saw,” Danny says, stepping in front of me. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“Good question,” I say quietly, overtaking Danny and running as fast as my heels with carry me toward her disappearing form.
“Beau!” James yells after me.
“For fuck’s sake,” Danny shouts, just as my wrist is seized and I’m pulled to a stop. I damn the heels; he would never have caught me if I were in my sneakers.
“She’s gone,” James breathes, the sound of screeching tires filling the air. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“If she was a gold digger, why would she be at Dad’s funeral?” I ask. Danny scowls at me. I ignore him and give James my attention. “Well?”
“I don’t fucking know, Beau,” he admits. “I don’t fucking know a lot.”
“We should go,” Danny says, pulling our attention his way. Collins is standing on the edge of the parking lot, observing. “Come on.” He leads the way, and James claims me, marching me back to the Range Rover. “I don’t like her,” Danny says as we pass and her beady eyes follow the three of us.
I think he speaks for all of us.